Friday, July 17, 2015

Bonus Scene 6 - The Restorer's Son

I tugged my mother’s arm, half
supporting her and half dragging her away from the king’s judgment room.

“Wait,” she said breathlessly. “We
should help him.”

“Who? What are you talking about?”
We needed to get out of the palace before another whim changed Zarek’s mind.

“Kieran. Maybe there is something we
could do to—”

“Mother. Weren’t you listening? The
king ordered our deaths. It would be suicide to interrupt again.” I pulled her
along and she didn’t have the physical strength to resist.

She looked back over her shoulder.
“But he saved us. We have to try to help him.”

Rage burned from the core of my
being and filled my chest. “Saved us? He’s the reason I was charged with
treason. And Zarek nearly had you killed, too. Kieran deserves whatever he
gets. Now let’s go!”

She sagged and I wrapped an arm
around her waist. I barely felt the weight of her arm across my shoulders as we
raced along crooked hallways and out the main entrance. “Almost home,” I
whispered. After a few more streets and a turn down a littered alley, our
broken doorway promised refuge. Her legs barely supported her long enough to
get inside. I settled her on her pallet and brought water and a new drug patch.
She gave me a weak smile and closed her eyes.

Watching her surrender to sleep
stirred my greatest fear: one day I’d see her close her eyes for the last time.
No one recovered from Rammelite fever. Her effort to get to the palace and
confront the king had probably stolen even more of her limited time. I knew I
should feel grateful. She’d saved my life. But for some reason I also felt
angry that she’d risked herself.

I collapsed into our one chair and
stretched my feet out, rubbing my wrists which still remembered the manacles.
No, I wasn’t angry at her.

My hand traveled across my forearm.
Yesterday, raw broken skin seared with pain at the slightest touch. Now the
skin was whole. Even bruises had disappeared. What evil arts did Kieran know
that gave him that sort of power? I shivered and jumped out of the chair,
pacing our small common room.

Most of the Braide Wood barbarians
had been predictable—clumsy, brutal enemies acting just as I expected. But
Kieran had touched a deeper terror in me. I’d been desperate to escape him and
thrilled when I succeeded. I’d even indulged some pride as I raced back to
Hazor, thinking of the stories I’d tell the other messengers. I’d survived
being a prisoner of our enemies, escaped, and brought valuable information for
our army . . . or so I’d thought.

Seeing him in chains in the Hazor
cell did little to ease my fear of Kieran. He was a dangerous enemy full of
trickery and deceit.

Why had he used his skill at
manipulation to convince the king to free me? Did he really feel remorse? He’d
told the king he regretted what he’d done to me. Not likely. He was plotting
some other scheme.

My mother stirred. She fought hard
to hide her pain, but in her sleep, quiet groans escaped. I wanted nothing more
than to get us both out of the city and far from all the danger, but she
couldn’t travel. For now, I could only keep her comfortable.

I
knelt beside her pallet, blotting away the sheen of feverish sweat from my
mother’s face. The hollows of her cheeks were deeper than when I’d left for
Morsal Plains with the army. I stood and shook out my arms, the weight of
chains still lingering. If I ventured out to the markets, perhaps I could beg,
borrow, or steal a bit of dried caradoc and make a broth. I wanted to make her
better. Every part of me screamed in frustration because I couldn’t. But at
least I could get some food into her. With one more worried glance at my
mother, I slipped out the door.